


An Echo of Resonance

by ShyThrush



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC) Spoilers, Complete, Emotional Whump, Fever, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Overdose, Physical Whump, Potions, Protective Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Sick Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The scene we were robbed of in Blood and Wine, Toxicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyThrush/pseuds/ShyThrush
Summary: After Geralt takes Resonance, he wakes up feeling very unwell. In the meanwhile, Regis deals with his own trauma after the events that took place in the torture chamber of Tesham Mutna. The two of them take time to heal themselves and one another.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56
Collections: Regis Rocks





	An Echo of Resonance

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in two days after having it on my mind for a few weeks and feeling very deprived of the potential whump in Blood and Wine. Hopefully it's a good pick me up for all of you while I work on some longer pieces!
> 
> My Tumblr is open for commissions at aloe-casia!

When Geralt woke, there was weak candlelight filtering underneath his slightly parted eyelids, painting the backs of them red. He could make out the individual blood vessels that traversed the thin layers of skin like roads across the countryside, pulsing dully in time with his slow heart. He winced, swallowed nauseously, tried to remember what the hell had happened and where he might be.

Slowly, memories filtered in. Regis, trapped in a cage, thrashing like a wild thing and caught in the throes of a bloodlust so intense that Geralt had wondered if he would come back from it at all. Scurvers, hundreds of them. Their damned spines exploding outwards along with rushes of hot, poisonous blood. Logically, he knew he must have cleaned up since then, but his skin still stung a bit. Not a dream, then. But everything after the torture chamber at Tesham Mutna was a blur, nothing more than a sequence of disconnected images that did not fit or take on any logical order. A boy, polishing shoes. Detlaff’s shoes? Something about a beast, a murderer of knights, and Anna Henrietta’s voice demanding in that imperious way of hers that something be done. He tightened his hand weakly into a fist. Nothing made sense. Geralt couldn’t understand how Regis’ bloodlust fit together with the strange, watery memories of Detlaff, or any of it with the Duchess’s beast. It was all a damnable mess, like the strands of thought in his mind had somehow been crossed over and messed about with, leaving him to pick them apart with a hazy head.

He lay like that for a while, trying to control his breathing. It was pointless to try to organize the memories until he felt a bit more like himself, so instead Geralt tried to focus on the physical ramifications of whatever had happened to him. He felt absolutely miserable. Dizzy, sick, and very weak. His arms were trembling just lying at his sides, and he highly doubted he would be able to sit up. Hopefully, wherever he had ended up was safe. The air smelled vaguely familiar; earthy and damp and slightly cool. There was a faint backsplash of decay on the air, but it was not unpleasant. More…natural than anything. The whole thing felt oddly safe and homelike. Geralt knew he had been in this place before.

Eventually, there was a faint rustle of movement, which echoed strangely on the walls of wherever he was. Still not feeling well enough to open his eyes, Geralt tried to formulate a mental image of the room he was in based on the way the sound bounced off the walls. Definitely a cave, based on the striated noise. He tried to pry his eyelids apart to see what had moved, but he was too weak.

“Ah, Geralt,” the voice made the witcher start, but he recognized it instantly and sagged back with relief, another piece of the confusing puzzle falling into place, “Good to see you back with us. You writhed so, like an animal caught in a trap. I feared you had…departed.”

Geralt wrinkled his brow. Regis was here, and sounded well, far more so than how the witcher last remembered him. That was a relief, at least. The vampire had suffered greatly in Tesham Mutna, and Geralt had worried he would take far longer to recover.

“Regis…what happened?” The words felt like clotted cream on his tongue, spilling stickily over his lips, reluctant to leave his mouth. Based on Regis’ pause before answering, they hadn’t been very intelligible.

“You took the Resonance, my friend. It appears you’re experiencing some negative side effects. Lie still, and don’t open your eyes. I’ll bring you somewhere more comfortable where you can rest for a while. When you’re feeling better, we can discuss what it was you saw.”

Ah. That explained the strange, watery quality of some of his memories. They mustn’t be his own. Geralt winced. After having experienced the loss of all his memories, he had hoped to be able to tell which ones remaining were his and which ones were not. His brain felt terribly fuzzy and addled. He wanted to go to sleep, but there was unpleasant adrenaline coursing through his veins, making his stomach turn and cramp horribly.

“Now, can you walk? Or would you like me to carry you? There’s a bed I keep down here to meditate on, though I’m afraid you’ll be the first person to use it for sleep in quite some time.”

Geralt winced. He didn’t feel like sleep was attainable at the moment. Every inch of his body was coursing, like he needed to get up and run a mile, only he was too weak for his legs to hold his own weight. Pushing himself up on arms that felt like jelly, he slumped to the side and felt a chilly hand catch him under the shoulder. With Regis’ help, he managed to get himself upright, but the moment he put any weight on his legs they turned liquid beneath him, and he slumped, tripping over his own feet, with a frustrated growl.

“Very well. Stay still, don’t open your eyes. I’m afraid the vertigo would probably overcome you at the moment.”

Geralt felt his shaky legs being swept out from underneath him, and next thing he knew he was clinging to Regis’ thin, cold neck tightly as the world spun around his spinning head. The vampire’s skin felt paper thin under his hands, and he was struck by how odd it was to be held by someone that had no pulse. He had, of course, noticed Regis’ lack of circulation before, but there was something far more intimate about having his hands wrapped around a living neck that carried no pulse. There was a wrongness to it that Geralt couldn’t quite purge from his mind, a need to run and hide that his mutations hadn’t quite beaten out of him. A last vestige of his forcibly taken humanity, perhaps.

However, he was too dizzy to entertain such philosophical notions for long. He felt his legs brush with the cold air of what he had determined must be the crypt at the Mere-Lachaiselongue cemetery, and then he was set down gently on something soft, head pillowed gently. Regis spread a blanket over him, and Geralt tried not to entertain thoughts of where the vampire might have come by it. He had never seen Regis get cold, and he was not a man to own possessions that were not immediately useful to him.

“Better?” Regis asked softly once Geralt had breathed through the worst of his vertigo. The witcher nodded, even though his stomach was still cramping horribly.

“Still nauseous, I see. Though it’s only to be expected, after the day you’ve had. What with the scurvers and beasts inhabiting Tesham Mutna, and then subjecting yourself to such high toxicity levels. Breathe through it; I’m here if you need anything at all.”

Geralt thought he detected a note of melancholy in Regis’ tone, like a hint of bitterness sullying an otherwise sweet wine. He forced his eyes open then, wincing when the light assaulted them and made him feel like the inside of his head was being boiled. A groan escaped his lips before he managed to clamp them shut, and Regis’ blurry form spun about.

“Don’t open your eyes,” he said exasperatedly, “It will only worsen your symptoms.”

Resisting the urge to inform Regis that that ship had already sailed, Geralt breathed through the pain as it increased exponentially. It was beyond idiotic to allow the vampire to blame himself for all of this. Without him being willing to put his life and sobriety on the line, they never would have gained access to Detlaff’s memories. However, he couldn’t find the words to explain this as the world tilted and lurched around him.

“S’not your fault.” It was a poor excuse for what Geralt wanted to say, but it would have to do for now. He choked once before he found himself puking up the remainder of the Resonance, as well as his most recent meal, into a conveniently placed bowl. It was a miserable business, black bile and half-digested ale spewing from his mouth and nose, and when he was done he could barely see straight for exhaustion. Cheeks burning a bit, he slumped back and wiped his mouth roughly, giving Regis a grateful look when the vampire handed him a cloth.

“Do not concern yourself with such things now,” Regis said, pulling a stool over and sitting down on it tiredly, as though standing had exhausted him, “When you’re well again, we can discuss it at as great a length as you might like to. Now, would you like something for the pain and to help you sleep? I can hear your heart pounding from here; far too fast compared to your usual.”

This, Geralt knew well enough. His heart felt like it was about to burst from exertion, even now that the Resonance had violently cleared itself from his system. He was panting like he had just run headlong through a bog.

“I would suggest it. Your adrenaline levels are extremely high.”

Regis’ large eyes looked almost luminous in the flickering candlelight, and for a moment Geralt was reminded of how purely bestial he had looked in that cage. Fighting another strange and primal urge to haul himself up off the bed and flee, he nodded exhaustedly. His body needed time to recover from the toxicity, to reorder itself and get a handle on what was real and all that had happened over the last days. When the vampire held a small vial of clear fluid to his lips, Geralt felt nothing but relief.

The minute he swallowed; Regis took his hand and placed two fingers on the pulse point at the top of his wrist.

“I will monitor your pulse and make sure it comes back down to normal levels. You need not worry so long as I’m here.”

Geralt was already feeling dizzy and fuzzy. His head didn’t hurt anymore, and there was a sweetness coating his mouth and pushing on his tired eyes. He let himself smile a little, even though he knew it probably wasn’t appropriate to the moment. But he just felt so much _better_ , and that in and of itself seemed like a reason to be happy. All the pain had vanished, and it felt like his weak limbs were floating in a warm bath.

“Mmm…s’good, Regis.”

“I’ve no doubt that it is.” There was a small smile on the vampire’s pale face; veins still slightly dilated from the blood madness. His cold fingers gently rubbed up and down on Geralt’s wrist, and the witcher found the rhythm incredibly soothing, a bit of gentleness in amongst all the madness of the days since he had arrived in Toussaint.

“Go to sleep, my friend. I shan’t go anywhere while you’re resting.”

That was a comforting thought indeed. Geralt curled up on his side, wincing a bit as the aches in his muscles made themselves known again. But the pain didn’t last very long, chased away by whatever Regis had given him and the sleepiness that seemed to anchor every part of his body to the mattress. A little more warmth covered him, and Geralt reached over and pulled what appeared to be a second blanket nearly up to his chin, not having realized that he had been shivering. Then, he closed his eyes and allowed the gentle dripping of water in the crypt to lull him into the healing sleep he so desperately needed.

* * *

There was a mildly sour taste in his mouth when Geralt roused next. He felt much better than he remembered feeling when he had fallen asleep, though that didn’t really mean very much overall. His limbs still ached, and his head was pounding, but he felt less weak and when he opened his eyes, the light didn’t assault them quite so aggressively as he had expected. He sat up, ignoring the mere moment of vertigo before placing his curiously bare feet on the cold dirt floor.

“Ah, Geralt,” Regis’ thoughtfully quiet voice greeted him, and the vampire stepped out of the shadows, a large tome held open in his left hand, “Good to see you back with us. How do you feel?”

The witcher quickly took stock, and determined that his symptoms were no worse than if he had overindulged in potions before a contract. Sore and achy, perhaps a bit chilled with a mild fever, and a wickedly powerful headache, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Shrugging, he allowed Regis to guide him to a chair and wrap a blanket around his shaking shoulders.

“Like my blood is toxic, which it probably is. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re running a mild fever, and you’re very dehydrated,” Regis stopped here to pinch the skin on the back of Geralt’s hand, and they both watched as it took nearly ten seconds to sink back to its normal level, “I’ll brew some tea. Don’t try to get up.”

Geralt could have protested that he was fine, that he had managed the walk from the bed to the chair with no difficulty, but Regis looked exhausted. The vampire’s skin, always pale, had taken on a sickly, greyish hue. His eyes were luminous and dark-ringed in the candlelight, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in a fortnight. Not that vampires needed sleep, Geralt realized rather belatedly. He drew the blanket around his shoulders, not particularly wanting to make Regis’ life harder than it needed to be at the moment.

A warm mug was pressed into his hands a moment later, and Geralt took a sip. It was a very hot chamomile tea, and it soothed a sore throat he hadn’t even realized was paining him. Leaning back, feeling relaxed, the witcher appraised Regis critically as the vampire pulled up his own chair and leaned his elbows tiredly on the table.

“Regis, you look terrible.”

“Ever eloquent, Geralt. Indeed, I feel…not as I should. Although I expected this, after what happened at Tesham Mutna. Trust that I have taken appropriate precautions to assure your safety and the safety of the humans who live nearby.”

“Wasn’t worried about that, actually,” Geralt said wryly, suppressing a small smile and a feverish shiver, “More concerned about you.”

The vampire looked touched, but not surprised. He leaned his head against his hands and gave a heavy sigh. Whatever energy that had been keeping him going seemed to flee into the darkness of the crypt. The air grew a bit colder, though Geralt couldn’t be sure if that was just him. His skin felt sensitive and so very cold and fevered, and he clenched the stoneware mug close to his chest, as though it would somehow chase away the last vestiges of his toxicity and leave him feeling warmed.

“I am recovering, Geralt. It would probably be best if I stayed here for several days, until I get my full measure of control back. But I am not nearly as damaged as you seem to believe. A temporary setback, one that is easily overcome.”

“Awfully nonchalant, for someone who’s constantly telling me I need to take better care of myself.”

“You are…delicate.”

Having never heard himself described in that way, Geralt lapsed into silence. The more he considered it, the more he realized that from Regis’ perspective, he probably was fragile. Fragile and short-lived, his entire long lifespan nothing more than a blink of an eye for a vampire. It was strange to consider, in a world where most species saw him as indestructible. In a strange sort of way, it was comforting.

Regis almost seemed to have lapsed into a meditative state when Geralt finished his tea, setting the mug softly on the table. His tremors had abated a bit, though his muscles were still aching fiercely. He knew he needed to get back to Anna Henrietta, though. She would be expecting a full report, and was not a woman who took kindly to being kept waiting.

He got halfway to his feet before Regis was at his side, cold hands wrapped around his elbow, supporting him.

“Geralt, please sit. You’re in no state to be going anywhere, at least for another several hours. Allow yourself a chance to rest.”

His legs were much less weak underneath him now; he probably wouldn’t have even needed Regis’ support, but he leaned into it a bit anyways. He was very tired.

_The people of Toussaint are dying,_ a poisonous little voice in his head piped up suddenly, offering him a small reminder of why he couldn’t be here, couldn’t stay and catch his breath while people were being murdered and he was being _paid_ to put a stop to it.

“I can’t, Regis. I have work that needs to be done, and I’m mostly recovered. I need to go talk to that shoeshine, see if I can’t tease out some more information about what might have happened between him and Detlaff.”

The vampire let go of his elbow as suddenly as he had grabbed it, and gave a resigned, exhausted sigh. There was some sort of sadness in his large eyes, though Geralt couldn’t possibly fathom why. He backed away.

“At least allow me to assist you with your armour, before you leave. The muscular aches you’re experiencing will go on for some time yet; you shouldn’t be straining yourself unnecessarily.”

Geralt shrugged and allowed Regis to help him slip his black shirt over his shoulders, followed by the simple leather jacket and bracers he had been wearing. The armour he had acquire in Tesham Mutna would have to stay here for the time being; there was no chance that he would

be able to bear such a weight. His muscles were aching and trembling simply wearing a light shirt and coat, and there was still a slight fever prickling under his flesh. He shook it off, though, feeling foolish and weak for allowing toxicity to affect him so. Even under the effects of a potion he had never used before, he should be able to rally and collect himself.

“Do you have everything you need?” Regis asked softly as Geralt allowed him to buckle the sword belt onto his back. He took the crossbow and set it on the table as well, nearly having buckled under the weight of it all.

“I think so. Just need to go find Roach. She should be grazing somewhere in the cemetery.”

Regis cocked his head for a moment, and then nodded.

“Due East, by the monument to Melitele. There’s a patch of clover there she seems to be enjoying immensely.”

Geralt allowed himself a small smile and hefted his sword belt up so it sat properly on his shoulders, poorly concealing the wince that came with the movement. Regis laid a concerned hand on his shoulder.

“If you should find yourself needing more time to recover, you are more than welcome to return.”

“I know.”

Geralt gave Regis a friendly clasp on his shoulder and turned, pushing his aching limbs to the back of his mind. There would be time to rest them later, when all this was over. Surely, with what the Resonance had allowed them to learn, the ending of this whole ordeal was in sight now.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always greatly appreciated!


End file.
